Maryland Hearts
by planet p
Summary: AU; about some OCs from another branch.


**Hubbard Residence, ****Lincoln, Maryland**

Harry Hubbard's wife was an empath. To be precise, a class four empath. But that wasn't what bothered him: it was his son, Archibald. Archibald was seventeen, and, like his mother, an empath; slightly under her in ability, however, he'd consistently come in as a class three in every test he'd ever had, last month's test included. (Harry had even tried to bump that up a little, for his son's sake, but Archie just hadn't been quite good enough to slip over the three mark into the four to stand alongside his mother. Shame, really.)

Harry ran the Center's Maryland branch out of Lincoln, where he was known as Mr. Hubbard, or Chairman Hubbard. He'd never met the CEO, but he was still hoping, _One day_; one day, it might happen. He didn't know exactly why he wanted to meet the company's CEO so strongly, but it was just something that he wanted, he supposed. Something to dream about at night, to fill in the hours of darkness.

He'd begun to suspect something, but he wasn't sure what. It was something about his wife, Shifele, originally Swiss, but now a US citizen. Perhaps an affair… with her 'mentor,' Simone. Simone, after all, was not himself married, and the two did spend an awful lot of time together.

But Shifele's fidelity wasn't the most pressing worry on his menu card. Archie, of course, filled that slot neatly. He was cocky; it had begun to annoy Harry. He could see Archie turning into a whole lot of trouble; a whole, whole lot.

He'd invited Terence over for dinner to meet Archie. Up until that point, they'd never met. Maybe Terence had glimpsed Archie once or twice at various stages of his life, but they'd never held an actual conversation. Well, at least as far as Harry knew. Terence was a mentor, too, like Simone. One of three, actually. He worked with Buso, a pretender who hailed from France. After Terence there was Yuna, who was Gigi's mentor. Gigi was also a pretender, but she'd come from Nigeria not France. Harry had a vague recollection of Shifele choosing her name; when she'd come to them, she hadn't spoken at all, so it had fallen to them to choose a name for her: he'd handed it off onto Shifele.

Terence was a psychologist, which, really, was the main reason Harry had asked him over in the first place. To get a sense of how he saw Archie; was the kid going to be a problem, and how much of a problem?

Dinner went well, as it always did; the English cook was fine, as usual, and Shifele had bought a nice wine which he quite liked (Archie complained that it tasted 'cheap,' though it had been nothing of the sort at the exclusive auction Shifele had purchased it at; he was stirring his parents up, he should have known it hadn't come cheap). Archie didn't like the sauce on the meat; Shifele gave him a single look that might have said, _Eat it or don't, then you can fuck off_ and he shut up. But, despite that it had worked, that wasn't what Harry had been going for with his kid: he wanted his kid to feel if his behaviour was getting out of line or not and correct it – _himself_; not for his mother to constantly have to check him. It niggled him.

He'd though about having him meet George, their Tower empath. She was a Class Six; she wouldn't take nonsense. She'd know right away what was sus and what wasn't. But she'd headed off to Hawaii with Guy, her counterpart, their Tower pretender. He didn't know exactly what that was about, but he'd decided not to nag on the subject; he'd known when they returned and he was finally able to quiz them on it.

What was important right now was Archie: his son. Terence asked Archie about his friends: Sure, he had friends. Truckloads of friends, in fact. They liked his car, but really it wasn't about the car, it was about the money. They liked him because his parents had money, and, by extension, he did, too. Harry didn't miss the stress on the word 'parents,' as though he'd had to internally correct himself not to say 'old folks' or some similar colloquialism. Archie was slipping, becoming common. He'd been such an uncommon boy, growing up, and now he seemed _so_ common: it bored Harry as much as it hurt him.

Terence asked about girls: Did he have a girlfriend? Archie's expression remained the same, nothing at all happened. Harry had expected a face. No, Archie replied, but he'd like to have one. Girls seemed like they could be fun when they wanted to be. That was when Harry got scared, then he turned off his food. His hands might have started to shake, if he hadn't put his cutlery down out of lack of appetite, so it was just as well.

What was his ambition in life: Terence's questions went on. Pretender, that seemed cool. He wanted to be smart, successful, didn't all the smart, successful guys get the girls, in the end? It'd probably be cool to meet Jarod; yeah, that pretender from Delaware… ah, Blue… Blue something… Isle, Inlet… It didn't matter. It'd be cool to meet Jarod.

The tops of Harry's arms started to itch uncomfortably: why was Archie bringing up Delaware's escaped pretender, he was nothing but an embarrassment to that branch? He'd been a fine enough pretender, but then they'd fucked up and suddenly he hadn't been their pretender anymore: neutralise and move on, that's what he would have done. No sense in letting that get around in the world unchecked, dropping hints of their secrets here and there for anyone nosy enough to pick up on.

It sucked how his brother was dead, Archie continued. Not that he got that, not really, he was an only child, no siblings to speak of, except, if he'd wanted to be cantankerous, imaginary ones. But, no; he'd never had that urge. To his credit, or dismay, he'd never had anything imaginary. Why would he need to: his parents had the money to get him anything he wanted, except for a sibling, and, well, that was understandable because it came under the clause of In Most Cases.

Moving on from that, he supposed he'd like to be a dad one day.

_Oh, fuck!_ Harry thought. _Son, you're too young to be harbouring such ambitions: live a little first! Get out there – actually _out_ there – see what the world has to offer: you'll change your mind soon enough._

Shifele cleared her throat, turning Harry's attention to her suddenly pinched expression, pale-skinned. "Archibald plans on becoming a doctor or a lawyer," she informed Terence. "He's going to grow up to help people, and, a little, help himself."

"Mom, I am grown up," Archie interrupted.

"It is obvious you are not grown up enough," Shifele replied curtly, a flash of the dismissive gleam in her eyes: they were changing the topic now.

"Mom likes to have her way," Archie intoned, with an eye roll, earning another flash of her eyes from Shifele: this time, in anger. "It's an empath thing, I guess," Archie remarked. "I'm not negative to getting what I want once in a while. Hey, you'd have to have something wrong with you not to, though. It's just a normal thing, I guess, only that we think we're something special: but, that's probably because we are. Like, right now, your car's being towed away. Don't ask me why, I'm not that good; mom might know."

Harry almost choked, and that was it! Terence shared a mild look with Shifele, who nodded, nonplussed, then he'd leapt up and all Harry could hear was the sound of his running feet and a fleeting, angered, "What the blazes!" trailing after him. The slam of a door. Harry flinched: _Goddamn it, man, watch the doors!_ His eyes moved to his son, hardening as they came to rest on the boy's unsmiling face. "To bed." He didn't raise his voice, he made it _firm_. It was the voice he used on bad employees; Archie knew he'd hurt him, he didn't have to be an empath for that; Harry didn't let his feelings leak. He'd learnt to block them from Archie from an early age, only for the kid's wellbeing: only the best for his Archie.

Archie didn't argue. There was no _but_ look, no stutter of outrage or unfairness, he just put his cutlery down and pushed out his chair. He didn't hurry the process, he took his usual pace; why hurry when he knew exactly where he was meant to be, when that wasn't going to change, his bedroom wasn't going anywhere?

Somehow, that hurt Harry all the more, watching his son finally walk away, unhurried; seeming, for all the world, untroubled, unhurt. When he knew he had been; that was just Archie's way. _You're getting a taste of your own medicine back, _he thought bitterly._ You've only ever handled things with Archie the way you have with his best interests at heart, but he doesn't see that; he'd stopped seeing it a long time ago and you've stopped letting it out: now you're no more than the man with the money. Yes, that's all you are. You're not dad anymore. He doesn't have a dad; you heard it: he's a 'man'!_

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**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.


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